


Lard In My Soap

by orphan_account



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Franklin Is So Done, M/M, Michael Needs a Hug, Trevor Being An Asshole
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 00:17:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9295895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Michael and Trevor are roomies. It can only end in disaster.





	1. Who?

**Author's Note:**

> My first GTA work- Woo!!

"Oh, Mikey," Bloodied boots sucked at the floor, reluctantly releasing the sticky linoleum beneath them, "Mikey, where you at, buddy?" 

"Where I usually am- What the hell do you want, T?" His voice scraped the air in a more subtle way than Trevor's did. Trevor's voice grated violently in the wriggling heat. 

"I want you to get your fat ass off of my bed, first of all." A rough sigh left him, and he cocked his hip. His brow darkened in the most ugly way.

Michael sighed as well, shaking his head tiredly before standing up. "There, you fuckin' happy now?" 

"Woah, calm down, fat man. You're all red... I don't want to have to take you to the hospital now..." 

"Aha, funny. Just fuckin' hilarious." The shorter, gray eyed male chuckled, shaking his head again as he pushed past Trevor. He stepped outside of the trailer, immediately producing a pack of cheap cigarettes from his back pocket. Those weary eyes scanned the horizon- well, what he could see of the horizon. The click of his lighter was interrupted by Trevor's obnoxious snarling as he stomped his way out of the trailer. A dark eyebrow rose as Michael turned slightly to meet Trevor's angry glare. "Hm?" The cigarette between his lips jumped with the hum.

"Hm? HM!? That's all you got, huh!?" Trevor growled in frustration, slamming his forearms down onto the railing of his rickety porch. His forehead met the wood next, scraping against the chipping paint. Michael didn't respond, instead, he lit his cigarette and squinted against the glare of the California sun.

"You... Fucker..." The tall, balding man straightened up, turned, and pointed at Michael, an accusing aura plaguing his being. "Why'd you do it?" 

Of course. Of course he'd ask that. To prepare himself, Michael took a long drag from his cigarette before responding. "No comment." He smirked, proud of his own 'celebrity-like behavior'.

Trevor trembled with the force of his fury. His mouth moved, but he was unable to form intelligible words. He was making a lot of noise, but it wasn't clear if he knew he was doing it or not. The male began to pace, leaving red boot shaped stamps all over the porch.

Michael finally noticed this. "Holy fuck, T? What the hell happened? Did you kill someone before you got here?" 

Trevor thought he was being clever, but he was only being ridiculously childish. That accusing finger returned as he snarled in reply, "No comment."

Michael's hands spread wide, asking a very prominent question. 'What the fuck?'

The taller man screamed in rage, punching himself in the eye. 

Michael flinched, eyes wide. That was about the extent of his alarm. He knew how Trevor was. "Trevor." His speech was slow and deliberate, meant to cut through Trevor's agitation.

"WHAT!?" He bellowed, stopping mid pace.

"Who the fuck did you kill?" 

"..."

"Trevor."


	2. The Gardener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevor is uh- Well, he's Trevor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to make this make sense okuah?

"Do I fuckin' know 'em?"

The silence inflated, crushing the two men in the Californian heat. 

"Ehhh?" It was a grating, unsure sound.

"God dammit, T. Spit it out." 

"Fine, fine." Trevor chuckled awkwardly, tapering the noise off with a thoughtful growl as he rubbed his hand across his rough face. "I offed your gardener."

"Oh, fuck- Seriously? What the hell- Why? Are you insane!? Carlos was a good guy!" Michael threw his hands up in exasperation. 

"He was fucking up your lawn with that stupid leaf blower! So I tried to shove it up his ass but it wouldn't fit!"

"Oh my god, Trevor!" Michael tossed what was left of his cigarette over the porch rail. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "What were you doin' in the city in the first damn place!?"

"I was- I was just testing Madrazos forces. That's all." A wave of calm seemed to wash over the balding man for a moment. He swayed as he took a few steps away. "I hid at your house. Which was a stupid, stupid idea. Then Carlos pops out of nowhere and blows leaves every-fucking-where. I must admit- I was a bit agitated to begin with."

"That's his job! T! God dammit!" Michael couldn't believe what he was hearing. What had gotten into Trevor?

"Micheal, my man, you're really not goin' to miss that alien fucker, are ya?" Trevor tilted his head, sneering cruelly. 

"Fuck you, he was legal." The shorter man jabbed a finger in Trevor's direction, lips set in a thin line of quiet anger. 

"Eh, what's goin' on?" Both men turned to locate the source of that familiar voice. 

Franklin held up his hands, eyebrows raising as he slowly made his way up onto the porch. The two older men were tense, ready to pounce. "Calm down, guys. Just me." 

"Hey, Frank! Michael here is in mourning. Unfortunately, I don't have a black bonnet for him." 

"Real funny, T."

Trevor bared his teeth, ready to spit venom. 

"Guys! Guys! Calm the fuck down." Franklin made a settling motion with his hands, a firm look on his face. "The fuck are you talkin' 'bout?"

Michael and Trevor began talking, at the same time. It only took a second or two for them to turn to eachother and start shouting. 

"... STUCK IT DOWN HIS THROAT-"

"... YOU'RE A FUCKING PSHYCO MORON-"

"BOTH OF YA'LL, SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

The silence returned. A pair of firey hazel eyes landed on Franklin, closely followed by a pair of cold jade.

"One at a time, please- god damn." Franklin shook his head, already fed up with their bullshit. "Michael first."

Trevor tensed, opening his mouth to speak.

"Ah!" Franklin held up a hand, stopping Trevor in his tracks. He wasn't their parent, what the fuck was he still doing here? 

"Trevor went to the city to kill my gardener."

"That is _not_ what happened."


	3. Why?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor Franklin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am of the tryingness- I know these are short chapters but I'm testing out the little spurts of things so I might avoid writers block?? Just sort of write what comes to me, when it comes to me and stuff.

"Then what the hell happened?" Franklin was just about ready to walk away. Actually, he was more than ready. 

The older men looked over at eachother, expressions hardening further. Trevor spoke up first, still glaring at Michael. "I went to the city. Killing Mikey's precious gardener was not my goal." His voice raised an octave or two at 'precious gardener'. Michael shook his head, smiling tensly as he looked back to Franklin. He shrugged, chuckling in disbelief. 

Franklin's brow furrowed in confusion. "What the hell, man?" 

Trevor grunted, hissing in annoyance. "Ah, not you too? It was an accident. I was angry, and Carlos was... there." Again, his words delved into primitive growling in place of what would be a hum in a- a normal person.

Franklin could see that Michael was ready to go off again. "Michael, chill the fuck out." 

"Yeah, Michael, do as the kids say. 'Calm your tits', fat ass." Trevor spat, clenching his fists. 

At that, Michael growled to himself, turning away from Trevor. "You know what? I'm out. I'll be back later." 

Franklin rolled his eyes as Michael stormed towards his dust caked car. He looked to Trevor, shaking his head. "What. The. Hell?" 

"Jesus, I told you what happened already, don't get your panties in a bunch, homey." Trevor spat again, rubbing a palm over his knuckles. 

Again, Franklin rolled his eyes. "Why don't you two stop fighting like an old married couple, it's embarrassin' as hell." 

"Well, if Michael wasn't such a whiney bitch, maybe I wouldn't be such an unbearable asshole!" Trevor's words slurred into clenched teeth and snarls. 

"I ain't getting any further into this shit, T. You two work your shit out by your damn selves. Call me when you've got yourselves a marriage counselor or some divorce papers. I'll bring the pen." Franklin walked away, waving a hand back in an exasperated, half-assed effort to say goodbye.

He couldn't believe those two. Whatever happened to make them such bitter assholes must have been bad. Well, maybe it wasn't. Knowing those two, it could have been something really fucking stupid. Anyways, he was over it. For now. Michael seemed to be the most reasonable of the two. Then again, Michael liked to surprise people. It could very well be the other way around.

One last glance back at the trailer gifted him with the horrifying sight of Trevor baring his ass to the world to spite Franklin. He looked away, and pursed his lips as he fought the urge to vomit.


	4. Because Why Not?

By the time Michael returned, it was around 5:00 PM. He wasn't sure what time it was himself, because his phone was dead and the radio in his car refused to display anything useful. Michael left his car by the road, outside of what would be Trevor's yard. Trevor was no where in sight, which probably meant he was inside the trailer or stranded at the top of a mountain again. Michael decided to take advantage of this 'alone time' and remained outside of the trailer. There was a ratty old reclining chair sitting near one of the palm trees, and he planned to make use of it. It was bleached by the sun, and even further discolored by what seemed to be years worth of dirt layering its cushions. At least it looked more comfortable than roasting inside the tin trailer on what seemed to be a needle filled couch.

Michael dragged the chair over into what resembled shade at the front of the trailer, and sat himself down on it. He hummed, smirking as he settled in. Yeah, it was alright. Suddenly, he remembered the little pieces of paradise he had picked up on the way back. He went to his car, opened the door and left the radio on, and brought back a six pack of thankfully ice cold canned beers, a straw from a gas station, and a pack of cigars. Not cigarettes, _cigars_

. He plopped back down onto the chair and pulled a weathered box close to the chair. With a smile, he sat took a beer and stuck a straw in it, then lit himself a cigar. In one hand, was his beer, in the other, his cigar. This was not half bad. A little puff here and sip there, and all was nearly right with the world. The dying sun failed to peer through his purple tinted pilot shades, and his pale blue, undone shirt welcomed the slight breeze. See, if you could figure this shit out just right, you had yourself made.

If you played your cards right, you could rot in comfortable misery. Trevor had yet to master such an art. Trevor was the epitome of chaos. The words of his therapist echoed in his mind, and the hand bringing his cigar to his mouth paused. No. He didn't thrive off of chaos. He didn't like chaos. He liked peace and quiet. In peace and quiet, he could be miserable without all the grating chatter of the world... Well. He wasn't given the chance to be miserable in the midst of chaos. Maybe he liked being miserable. There was no way he liked chaos.

That would mean he liked Trevor. God, he hated Trevor. Right now, at least. There was a time when he had liked the guy. Hell, he'd go as far to say he loved him. Like a brother.

"Fatass! What ya doin' on my fucking chair, huh!?" 

Speak of the devil.

"Relaxing."

"Nuh uh. Theres no fucking relaxing for you."

Michael sighed at the sound of incoming Trevor. "Fucking dick." He muttered before sucking on the end of his cigar.

"What was that!?" The thicker man scoffed in disbelief as Trevor snatched his cigar and shoved it into his beer can. What the fuck. Hell no.

Michael stood quickly, yanking off his sunglasses. He threw them on the ground before shoving Trevor back a step or two and tossing the rest of his beer in the others' face. None of that Amanda shit.

Trevor sputtered, stumbling back and furiously wiping at his eyes. "YOU FUCK!"

"YOU'RE THE FUCK THAT STARTED IT!"

"GOD DAMMIT, MIKEY!! DO YOU WANT ME TO KILL YOU!?"

"MAYBE I DO!!"

"I FUCKING WILL! I'M DONE WITH YOUR SNAKE ASS!"

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOIN' ON!?" 

Both men froze, hardly an inch away from each other's noses. They looked to the other voice. Franklin was back. 

"You two clowns is lucky I didn't fuckin' leave. Damn- Do I really gotta babysit y'all asses!?"

"I am going fucking insane, Frank. I'm fuckin' leaving."

"No you're fucking not, Mikey. You know why?"

"Why!?"

"BECAUSE YOU'LL FUCKING DIE!" 

Yeah. Franklin was beyond done. He simply shook his head and returned to his car. He didn't leave yet, though.

The young man rolled his windows down, setting a pair of glasses on his head. He slipped them down his nose to look when he heard the grunt. Of course.

"Fuck! If you just broke my fucking nose, I'll kill you." Michael snarled, dropping anything left in his hands, cold eyes locked on Trevor, who wad coming in for another strike. Not fucking today.

The shorter man pushed himself forward, using everything labeled 'football' in him to get the acceleration he needed to tackle the other man. The two hit the dust with a heavy thud.

Franklin rolled his eyes and put his windows back up, cranking up the volume as they sealed.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think, guys!


End file.
